The Midnight Hare page 25 and 23

Realised that I had probably posted page 25 before, and can’t trace 23, so have included that, and will probably not now post any more images of The Midnight Hare, except perhaps the cover, until the book is much nearer ready to print. One of the reasons I have posted images is that I have been a victim of plagiarism in the past and am fond of this story and don’t want this to happen; at least if the book is kind of out there I can prove my original authorship. Am still debating whether to kind of do it myself (under the aegis of a smaller publisher) or send it out to mainstream publishers; there have been developments in both practical terms and in my attitude to the book.  There are surely advantages in keeping control of one’s work, and I don’t see that an agent could not be approached to possibly deal with further rights.  We shall see.  In the meantime, after a bit of a hiatus, I am back to work.  Have to finish my Christmas card first, then it is back to finishing the pictures; or enough of them to send out, if that is what I decide. Next year I want to work more loosely on larger canvases, that should be fun. But children’s picture books are a real love, no doubt of that.

First Snow 2

First Snow 1

Weir 2

Weir 1

Skein of Wild Geese

November Sun

Leaves 3

Leaves 2

Leaves 1

No possibility of taking pictures of the glorious colours of autumn massing on the trees, as the high winds have torn the leaves from the trees. In the sheltered spots, in the afternoon, the fallen leaves are edged with frost. Of course it is nearly December, but for a few months I have scarcely noticed the time nor the weather. Now walking on the path above the river on the far side my eyes are mostly set towards the ground. It is good to be out, in my shapeless faintly sparkly beanie from The Heart Foundation (new:£4.99). For the first time in my whole life I bought a pair of gloves last week because I fell in love with them, but I’m not using them tramping round the countryside, I go out with old gloves and an inhaler, and a fiver in an inner pocket in case I come across a cappucino, but in this direction there is no such thing for several miles. When I lived in Sunderland I had a great weatherproof jacket that had seen better days, and my son, who was allowed to look in my pockets for change and take anything under 5op, said the pockets of this jacket were always filled with crumbling Oxo cubes and nails.  The nails I could understand, as I was studying sculpture, but the Oxo cubes defeat me, as I never actually used them for cooking.  My son once told me, rather hesitantly as he thought I might be offended, that his friend Sam had said:  “Let’s face it, Matty, your Mum is just the most stylish tramp in Sunderland!”